“Why do you hesitate?”
“For this reason—I must grieve papa and disappoint my mother.”
“Still, both these things have to be done. Some of the best men have been obliged to displease their parents in choosing a vocation. Women, in their marriages, are often driven to the same sad straits.”
“I know, but the prospect is most painful. I feel I could bear my own disappointment far better than I could bear theirs. Surely you understand?”
“Too well.”
They had now reached the house, and Agnes's habitual manner at once re-asserted itself. Her voice, which had many rich notes, fell into the one unchanging tone she used in ordinary conversation. Her countenance seemed as placid as a pink geranium under glass.
“Thank you for a very pleasant walk,” she said to Sara. “I sha'n't forget it.”
“Nor I. And, please, after this, always call me Sara. And may I call you Agnes? We have just time now to write a few letters before dinner.”